To Spread His Wings and Fly
by ilovetvalot
Summary: Can Dave let the reflections from his past cast a golden light on his future?


**To Spread His Wings and Fly  
**

No one could understand the compulsive need he felt to spend his time here. To most, it seemed almost sadistic, a form of self-flagellation. But for him, it was a soothing balm to his soul, this place a physical, sentient reminder of what could be lost….of what _had_ been lost, damn it.

This was his last link to the past.

Luckily, she'd always accepted that, silently supporting him and his need to process things in his own way, in his own time. At least, he'd thought she had.

Until they'd pushed each other too far.

Leaves rustled as a gentle wind blew across the sparse trees and fanned against his face. Some would find the sound haunting. He found it peaceful. Others found the silence found here eerie. He was comforted.

Closing his eyes as he leaned his forehead against the cool marble of the monument, he whispered tiredly, "I didn't mean to hurt her, James. I didn't mean to hurt either of them."

It was the truth. He'd wanted to meet her announcement with the joy it was due. If he could have returned her overjoyed smile of excitement, he would have.

But, it had felt wrong….vulgar…the ultimate betrayal to the child he'd lost and buried. How could he move forward when he'd left something so precious behind?

He'd already had his chance to be a parent, he thought as he smoothed his hand over the etched stone bearing his son's name. For a brief moment that had been so bright, he'd known the inexplicable joy and unimaginable pride that being a parent brought. Then, like a flickering flame, it had been snuffed out by fate, extinguished forever.

The anguish that followed had been unrelenting…unyielding and all encompassing, a black vortex that had obliterated every other sensation. No pain that had followed in his long life had ever compared to the loss of his child. Thirty years later, the ache was still there, dulled over time, but still throbbing periodically, a reminder that some sorrows ran too deeply to ever be forgotten.

And today, the timeless grief had pierced him again, as fresh and fiendish as it had been during those first days after James had passed, when she'd stood in front of him and revealed that he was going to be a father again.

She'd called it a second chance. He'd thought it a cruel joke played by nature in the twilight of his life.

"I knew I'd find you here," a softly familiar sweet voice intruded on his misery. Circling the gravestone, she approached carefully, her eyes surprisingly compassionate. Sitting beside him on the dry ground, she sighed. Despite their age difference, she'd found a kindred spirit in David Rossi. His choices and movements were easily predictable, at least to her. When he'd stormed out of the home they shared earlier, she'd known exactly where he was going and to whom he was going. Turning and looking at the weathered monument behind her, she bit her lip. "You know, he wouldn't want you to be unhappy," she said quietly, sliding the tip of her thumb against a blade of dull grass.

"My son never had an opportunity to know love," he replied unevenly, his fingers digging into the earth beneath him as he fought the old bitterness threatening to rise up and claim him again. "He should have had that chance….to grow up…to fall in love…to have children of his own. He shouldn't be in the cold ground."

"No," she agreed simply. "He shouldn't."

Lifting his chin, he tried to look at her and failed. "I don't think I can live through that torture again," he whispered, remembering the excitement he'd felt while Carolyn had been pregnant. He'd imagined every detail of his boy's life…the bike rides….the little league games…his prom….his wedding. Like most fathers, he'd anticipated it all.

And then, like a switch being flipped, the light had gone out on his dream. He'd been left with a tiny coffin and a dim memory of a tiny baby that had wrapped himself around his heart in mere days. The dreams and plans had been obliterated in the blink of an eye.

"I can't tell you that nothing will happen, Dave," she whispered softly, her own fears threatening to overwhelm her. "But, I can say that I don't think your little boy would have wanted you to turn your back on his brother or sister because you're scared."

"This goes beyond fear," Dave retorted defensively, his nostrils flaring as he narrowed his eyes. "After James, I swore that I'd never have another child."

"Your Creator had other plans. Because whether you choose to be involved or not, there _is_ going to be another baby. He or she won't be James. But they're definitely linked. By you. Do you really think your son would have wanted his father to wallow in the past when the future burns this brightly? You know that I didn't plan this, Dave, but I believe everything happens for a reason. Would you trade those moments you shared with James for anything in the world?"

"Of course not," he replied hoarsely, automatically shaking his head in spite of the dull roar of a headache threatening to overtake him. Those days when he'd held and loved his son were precious memories, ones he wouldn't trade for anything.

"So, you'd go through it all again if it meant you got to keep those memories?"

"In a heartbeat." He nodded, finally turning to look at her. "His memory is worth the pain," he whispered, his voice raw and honest.

Merely meeting his gaze, she tilted her head. And waited.

Reaching out, he settled a trembling hand over the faint rise in her belly, the gentle swell of his second child. "So is this baby," he whispered in a voice that shook with fear.

Covering his hand with hers, she smiled sadly. "Second chances, Dave."

His eyes slowly traveling from her stomach to James' gravestone, his shoulders sagged. "Second chances," he repeated, forcing himself to believe the words as much as she did.

And as he finally blinked, he released the breath he held, the reflections from his past finally casting light on a golden future.

And from above, an angel smiled, looking from his earthly father to the Holy Father with adoring eyes, finally ready to spread his wings and fly.

_**Finis**_

* * *

_**Written in memory of Elijah Michael Byers (February 28, 2003 – April 27, 2003)**_

_**Mama loves you.**_


End file.
